


Merlin's Guide to Hiding Magic

by silverbird6



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: But also very proud of his secret keeping skills, Oblivious Arthur, Oblivious Knights, merlin is so done with everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-06 13:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13411932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverbird6/pseuds/silverbird6
Summary: Or How to Survive When Literally Everyone Wants to Kill You. A guidebook by the powerful Emrys, savior of the druids and mucker of the stables.





	1. Step 1

**Step 1: Establish a Cover Identity**

_I didn’t choose to be a warlock.  I was born this way, the most powerful magic-user to ever live, destined to help the once and future king on his way to greatness.  Or so Killgarah said.  As of now, all I am doing is helping a royal prat’s dirty socks on their way to cleanliness.  But Gaius and Killgarah insist that his prattiness will be a great King someday, and that I must protect him.  At the time I thought it was all bloody rubbish, but you try saying no thanks to your terrifying uncle.  And a dragon.  Who is actually far less scary than my uncle.  His eyebrow raise can cause even Uther Pendragon to falter._

_Anyways, if I was to fulfill this “great destiny” and keep an eye on the clotpole, I supposed I should learn to hide in plain sight.  Since magic is illegal in Camelot, secrecy is rather important to keeping one’s head attached to their body.  I happen to be fond of living, thank you very much._

_You will be relieved to know that I have devised a foolproof guide in which to hide my magic.  I hope that this inspired set of rules can help other young witches and warlocks, you know, not die._

_Step one: cover identity.   Strange strangers are liable to be burned at the stake here, whether they truly possess magic or not.  You need a day job, like mine.  I am the physician’s ward.  And Prince Arthur’s manservant.  And a super secret ninja warlock.  Really, there is no need to have multiple jobs, but fate has apparently decided I am an overachiever.  So, to keep my great power and wisdom under the table, I have formulated a cover that is infallible:  the castle idiot._

_Arthur calls me a simpleton, which is really quite rude.  It’s rich, coming from that toad face, who can’t even dress himself in the morning without my assistance, who has no idea how to cook a chicken or wash clothes and couldn’t see the obvious if it had a sign..._

_Right, cover identity.  Your identity should be similar to your actual personality, but not too close to your hidden secret.  For example, Camelot Merlin is kind and witty and clumsy, but oblivious and a bit of a coward.  The clumsy part is, unfortunately, a permanent part of my charm.  But it does a bang up job of making me out as the Prince’s numpty manservant.  The oblivious and cowardly part couldn’t be further from the truth (though I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself heroic), but along with the clumsiness, they form the backbone of my disguise.  No one would suspect the prince’s cowardly and ignorant manservant as discovering an evil sorcerer’s plot and then foiling it with magic.  The goal of this deception:  the people of Camelot believe that I survive battles and foil plots because I simply_ have _to get lucky at some point._

_Now, I started establishing this identity right when I arrived at the castle.  But I think the event that truly sold my cover was right after the whole Valiant incident. I thought I may have been a bit obvious with the heroics, so I arranged events to bolster my cover.  And yes, the incident was totally intentional, no matter what Gaius might tell you:_

 

* * *

 

“Merlin!”  Arthur yelled, slamming the door shut behind him.  “Merlin!  Where are you? My armor needs polishing, my laundry is in desperate need of washing, and I haven’t had breakfast!”  Arthur threw open the doors of the wardrobe, staring bewildered at the sheer amount of clothing tucked away in there.  He honestly had no idea where to start, but would never admit that.  Not to himself and certainly not to anyone else. Where was his imbecilic manservant?  Wasn’t this what Arthur paid him for?

 

“Merlin!  The longer you take, the longer your list grows.  I am suddenly in need of a dummy for training today, and will require a hot bath tonight.  I think the floors could do with a good dusting, and I am certain that the stables are in need of mucking.  After you get done with all that, you could spend some time in the stocks for your insolence”.  With his final threat leveled, Arthur glanced at the door expectantly.  No sign of the idiot.  A worried frown played on his face for one second before the door came flying open, almost hitting the prince on the head.  A scowl quickly took over as his manservant bumbled in while balancing an overloaded tray of breakfast food. 

 

“Sorry, sire.  The food was late coming off the oven and then I got stopped nearly four times on the way up the stairs and...”  He paused, noticing the doors of the wardrobe propped open and the prince’s face.  A smirk played across Merlin’s face before he hid it, but not quite quickly enough for it to go unnoticed.

 

“Feeling ambitious this morning, are we?  Don’t worry, it takes a while to get the hang of buttons and ties”  Merlin ducked to avoid the flying cup.  He set the breakfast down on the table just in time (read: the tray fell on the table and miraculously didn’t spill) and dodged another flying object.  A gauntlet this time.  Lovely.

 

“You just missed it, _Mer_ lin”.  Arthur suddenly looked smug.  Great.  “I was just making up your list of chores for the day.  Every minute you were missing I found another thing to add, and figured that if you couldn’t complete the simplest tasks, such as, getting my breakfast on time, you should end the day with a trip to the stocks”. 

Merlin groaned.  The work he could handle (especially since he had magic) but the stocks were altogether the worst thing about Camelot.  Other than, you know, the entire country wanting to burn Merlin for existing.  

 

Thoughts stuck on burning alive, Merlin frowned.  Perhaps after two instances of saving the prince’s life, he was getting a bit obvious.  Not to Arthur, certainly.  That cabbage head was so oblivious he wouldn’t notice if Merlin used magic to slap him in the face.  But the other servants, the council, the King, they weren’t quite that stupid.   And the servants were already starting to take notice.  There were the beginnings of whispers, “How did that scrawny, gangly thing save the prince’s life, twice?!”  Soon, those whispers would turn to conspiracies, some of which Merlin was sure would include magic.  And if the King got whiff of those theories, or put the evidence together himself, he would execute Merlin faster than he could say _prat_. 

 

So, because his head was more precious than his dignity, Merlin executed operation cabbagehead. 

 

After intentionally spilling water all over the prince, he dropped the dishes on his way back to the kitchen.  Chuckling quietly to himself, he made sure to drop one of the dirty dishes into the pot of soup, earning a whack upside the head from the cook.  Apologizing profusely, he gathered Arthur’s armor and headed out to the training fields, dropping a different piece of the armor every couple seconds.  He then proceeded to walk across the field while the knights were training, dropping the entire pile of armor multiple times and almost getting his head chopped off (which was an unfortunate experience Merlin should have anticipated) before making his way to Arthur.  The prat scolded and nagged the whole time Merlin was adjusting his armor. 

 

“You have to be the worst servant in Albion” he muttered, glaring darkly at the cheeky servant. 

 

“Perhaps you are overworking me?”  He innocently suggested, finishing up Arthur’s armor and earning only a snort of disbelief and a swat to the head for his troubles.

 

“I’ll show you overworked” Arthur muttered as he returned to the training field.  Merlin paid the price for his deception while he served as a moving target for the remainder of training, terrified that fate might just say, “screw it” and Merlin would die on that blasted field.

 

Throughout the day, Merlin proceeded to weave his illusion of a numpty.  He tripped on everything imaginable, served the wrong food, intentionally misunderstood Arthur’s instructions, and so on.  Even after the extremely unpleasant experiences mucking the stables and sulking in the stocks, the young warlock was rather pleased with himself.  No one would ever imagine that Merlin the manservant could have magic.  He would have killed himself with it by now!

 

He hummed quietly to himself as he threw open the doors to Arthur’s chambers and walked over to the bed, intent on turning the room down.  Perhaps he could accidently light the curtains on fire?  No, that was going too far.  Don’t want to make Uther suspect he was trying to kill Arthur or something...

 

Merlin’s mind was so engaged with the thought of setting the room on fire that he didn’t notice the indignant noises until he was right next to the bed.  Arthur sat, covers pulled to his chin, with a strange expression on his face.  Merlin frowned thinking back through his entrance to the room.  Had he already done something wrong?  And why was Arthur in bed instead of reading reports?  It was just after dark! 

 

Merlin shrugged and started adjusting the covers, appearing to ignore Arthur’s face but internally his mind was racing.  Was there an intruder?  Was Arthur sick?  He did look a bit peaky...

 

“Arthur, are you feeling alright?”  Merlin asked, frowning at a particularly large pile of bunched up comforter.  He reached to straighten it, when his hand was slapped by the prince. 

 

“Yes I am feeling just fine, _Mer_ lin.  You are the one who had better be sick or dying or enchanted, abandoning all proprietary and _barging_ into my chambers without _knocking_!”

 

Merlin frowned.  “I’ve never been very proper Arthur”.  Something was definitely amiss.  Arthur usually just rolled his eyes or glared or make a sarcastic comment when Merlin barged in.  He reached for the comforters again, only to be kicked by the royal prat himself.

 

“Oi!” Merlin glared at Arthur, rubbing his bruised forearm.  “What was that for?  Your bedding is all bunched up here, I was only trying to fix it...”

 

“You are giving me a headache with your uselessness.  Take care of the candles, will you?  I will fix the bedding since you are obviously incapable”.  Arthur shooed him away.  Merlin shrugged and grabbed the snuffer, dousing the candles by the desk first then moving towards the bed.  He heard an awful lot of shuffling behind him.  Abandoning his usual pattern, he turned around just in time to see a figure roll out of the bed and land on top of Arthur.  The prince struggled to throw the person off him, reaching towards his nightstand where Merlin knew his sword was resting...

 

Merlin didn’t hesitate.  He launched himself towards the apparent assassin, wielding the candle snuffer.   Grabbing the attacker’s arm, he pulled them off Arthur, putting the prince closer to his sword.  He made to call the guards as a hand clamped over his mouth.  The assassin must have a friend.  Struggling Merlin prepared to bite the hand...

 

And then he got a good look at the “assassin”.  Standing before him was a pretty serving girl in only her smallclothes.  Merlin’s jaw dropped, glancing behind him to see it was Arthur’s hand covering his mouth.  He dropped the snuffer, shaking Arthur off and retreating to the wall.  “Oh”.

 

“Oh?  OH?!”  The prince’s voice grew louder, then tapered off just below a yell.  He glared at Merlin as the girl stepped towards the bed, covering herself in the blanket.  “That’s all you have to say for yourself? I thought servants were supposed to be discrete.  Of course I should have known that you were entirely incapable of discretion, _Mer_ lin”. 

 

“You, you were reaching for your scabbard”.  Merlin was stuttering now, searching his mind for any clues that could have alerted him to the situation.  Looking back, there were a few. 

 

“I was reaching for her dress!”  Arthur was yelling this time, moving so Merlin could see the gown wadded up on top of the nightstand.  “What did you think she was, a bloody assassin?  Are you really that dense?” 

 

“Yes?” Merlin gulped, seeing now the full severity of his ignorance.  The mighty warlock didn’t even notice that the his master was otherwise engaged when entering the room.  “I’m...I’m going to leave now”. 

 

Arthur didn’t deign to answer, only throwing the closest item, which happened to be the discarded candle snuffer, at Merlin’s head.  The servant managed to duck, dashing to the door and closing it swiftly behind him.  He sighed in relief, only to see the two door guards grinning at him.  “Is the prince alright?”  One of them asked, amusement instead of worry dancing across his face. 

 

“Oh yes.  He’s great.  Went to bed a bit early, had a headache”.  Merlin glared at them with no real venom as he made his way down the stairwell to Gaius’s chambers, tripping at least a dozen times on the way.  He heard their laughter until he was several halls away.

 

The next morning, Merlin’s blunder was the talk of the kitchen.  Kitchen maids blushed and pages snickered as Merlin walked by.  He sighed.  Operation Cabbagehead was a success.  Perhaps his idiot cover was rather fitting.


	2. Step 2

**Step 2: Gain Loyal Friends, Who Are Also Stupidly Oblivious**

_The knights of Camelot.  Brave men who fight with honor, serving the King until their end, yada yada yada.  I don’t disagree with any of that.  My best friends are knights. However, they are really oblivious.  To the point where I wonder if they are fully functioning.  Personally, I think it might be from the number of times they are knocked upside the noggin.  Or, the sheer amount of stupidity it takes to drink all night and then expect to function like a human being in the morning.  I’m looking at you, Gwaine._

_In general, the knights of Camelot are rather good friends.  Loyal, protective, and utterly useless when it comes to magic.  Perfectly oblivious.  Because of this, they have a hard time letting_ me _tag along into battle.  “No,_ Mer _lin, don’t want you to hinder our manly stabbing of bandits” or  “Don’t want you to trip and impale yourself on a sword”  or “Merlin, stay behind because it is totally safer to stand alone in the middle of bandit infested woods instead of joining the large group of armed men”.  Really?  Like I’m going to stand back as they get themselves killed!_

_But their stupidity allows me to work from behind the scenes.  Of course then a certain prat hollers at me for being a coward, hiding behind a tree and so on (when he asked me to stay behind anyways, really, make up your mind).  Anyways, behind the scenes is a bit of a misnomer.  Any fully functioning human (example a: Lancelot) would notice that they were being protected by magic.  I mean really, branches don’t just fall on enemies during battle.  Swords are not capable of heating themselves in their owner’s hand.  And magical beasts certainly cannot be slayed whilst one is unconscious._

_Arthur is literally the King of these lovable idiots.   I wish for his sake that he had the excuse of being visually impaired or constantly sloshed but no, he’s just a clotpole.  Of course my friends’ obliviousness is the only thing keeping me from the pyre, so I’m not really complaining:_

* * *

 

The woods were hot.  The road had no shade, and the trees blocked the cross-breeze from relieving weary travelers.  Why Arthur insisted on hunting in the middle of July was beyond Merlin.  Arthur loved to drag Merlin out into the bandit-infested woods to hold his weapons while he chased fluffy animals through a maze of trees and bushes.  Then, he would make Merlin carry the kill back to camp.  Yup.  Definitely a prat. 

 

Merlin had no problem making his disapproval known.  Arthur merely rolled his eyes, calling Merlin a girl, a petticoat, or, in a dazzling display of wit, a girl’s petticoat.  At least today, the knights of Camelot were riding along with them.  That meant more fluffy animals died, but took some of the responsibility literally off Merlin’s shoulders.  Plus the conversation was much more interesting.  

 

“Excuse me, Elyan, _I_ am the official tester of mead here, and I can assure you: Cider is the best alcohol one can get.  Apples in a drink.  What more could you ask for?”  Gwaine argued heatedly against the rest of the knights, defending the honor of his favorite drink from the pub.  He looked much better than he had this morning, no longer swaying in the saddle while nursing the aftereffects of a night in the tavern.

 

“What is it with you and apples?”  Leon rolled his eyes, pulling his horse ahead to ride next to Arthur.  It had been a thoroughly disappointing hunt, and everyone (except Merlin) was rather put out. 

 

“My friend, what is not to love about apples?”  Gwaine drawled, a cheeky grin taking over his face, “What more could you want from a food?  Sweet, crispy, delicious in multiple forms”. 

 

“The greatest love story Camelot has ever seen: Gwaine and apples”.  Percival jeered, the whole company laughing as Gwaine shrugged good-naturedly. 

 

Merlin was just about to make a comment when a noise up ahead drew his attention.  No one else noticed, but Merlin could see a bush rustling at the top of a cliff up ahead.  He stalled for a moment, analyzing the road.  It would be the perfect place for an ambush.  Heavy brush up on the cliffs to conceal archers, a footpath that bandits could easily use to cut off travelers. 

 

“Merlin.  You alright, mate?”  Gwaine stopped talking about apple pies for a moment, noticing Merlin’s hesitation. 

 

“I have a funny feeling” Merlin's horse, picking up on his unease, huffed and shifted. 

 

“Oh dear.  Merlin has a funny feeling.   Don’t be such a _girl Mer_ lin”. Arthur scoffed at him, urging his mount forward. 

 

“You don’t think that area up ahead is a good spot for an ambush?” Merlin asked, directing his concerns at Leon, who was the best at looking for tactical advantages or disadvantages.  Merlin was vindicated when Leon hesitated, then slowly nodded. 

 

“Yeah.  It is.  But it seems quiet.  Bandits usually make a bit of noise.  And the wind is blowing towards us.  Surely the horses would have picked up their scents?” 

 

“See _Mer_ lin?  Come on, we are late returning anyways.  I do not want to spend a night in the woods because you got one of your ‘funny feelings’”. 

 

“Better delayed than dead” Merlin muttered to himself, resigning himself to following the dunce as he always did.  And, just as he always was, Merlin was right.  The instant the whole party was between the cliffs, bandits cut them off from the front and back.  Arrows rained down from the brush above them.  Arthur’s mount bucked, almost dumping the newly crowned king on his rump.   He quickly recovered, shouting orders to the knights, who formed a defensive formation.  Merlin quickly dismounted as the knights did the same.  Might as well not hand the archers a nice, tall target. 

 

“Dollophead!  I told you so!”  Merlin hollered as Gwaine threw himself in front of Merlin, catching a sword swing and parrying back. 

 

“Stay down, Merlin!”  Arthur yelled.  “Make for the trees if you can!”

 

“Yeah, because the bandits are just going to let me through.  Excuse me, small harmless manservant coming through”.  Merlin muttered, reaching for the extra longknife Arthur kept on his saddle.  “It’s not like they have honor”. 

 

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled again.  “What are you doing?  Get back, you can’t fight!” 

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence” Merlin said under his breath, then moved into the middle of the circle of horses.  He kept a wary eye on the battle, dropping a tree branch on a bandit that got a little too close to Leon’s flank, and heating the sword of the one fighting Elyan.  The fight was going well until a lucky crossbow bolt hit Arthur in the shoulder.  It was a flesh wound, but was enough to give his opponent an opening.  Pressing the attack, he pushed Arthur to the ground and made to kill the king...

 

Until the horses suddenly charged him in unison, miraculously avoiding the king, who was unconscious on the ground from the attacker’s last blow.  Merlin grinned at his handiwork, until he noticed the enemy was regrouping.  The bandits, seeing an opening, rushed around Arthur, intent on killing him and then robbing him of everything he owned.  The other knights were all engaged in their own battles, so it was up to Merlin.  Sending up a quick prayer, he summoned his magic and blasted the men back.  Some of them hit their heads and fell unconscious from the blast.  Others got back up again and made for Merlin, a bit slower this time.  Good.  Easier to hit when they weren’t running.  Merlin whispered a spell, levitating Arthur’s sword and slashing at two of the enemies, sending them to their deaths.  The sword finally embedded itself in the last bandit.  Or so he thought.  Only his magical instincts warned him that someone was approaching.  His magic reacted before he did, levitating the longknife he had grabbed earlier and impaling the bandit through the neck. 

 

Merlin looked around in fear.  Surely one of the knights had seen that.  He had produced a concussive blast for Pete’s sake!  But the idiots were all engaged in their one on one battles with the bandits.  No one called for Merlin’s head, no one whispered “sorcerer”.  Merlin was both relieved and appalled.  Because, really? These blunt men were the best Camelot had to offer? 

 

Arthur groaned, sitting up just as the knights finished off the bandits.  He looked around, noting the many dead bandits in his vicinity.  “What happened?”

 

Merlin sighed, resigning himself to a lecture about cowardice.  “You defeated them all, sire.  You went into a berserker rage, killed most of them, knocked some against trees”. 

 

Arthur looked confused for a moment. Merlin held his breath as he treated Arthurs wound. Surely, the king was brighter than this. He would question Merlin, and Merlin would have no explanation. Arthur was unconscious, after all. How would he have killed them all? But, Arthur just nodded. "Of course I did. I am a fearsome warrior, not that you would know _Mer_ lin. Hiding behind the horses the entire time".

 

“Yes sire” Merlin grumbled, a smirk slowly making its way across his face, “But we could have avoided this whole situation if you had just listened...”

 

“No one could have predicted this.  Right, gentlemen?”  The knights nodded in affirmation, gleams of amusement in their eyes.  Traitors, the lot of them.  “Now where are the horses, Merlin?  Don’t tell me you lost them?  Honestly, you are the most useless servant in the kingdom!” 

 

Yup, they were stupid.  Numpty, daft, and dim, the whole lot of them.  But they were great friends to have when you were hiding magic.  Not to mention they were pretty good men as well.  Merlin grinned, setting off into the forest to hunt down the horses.  They may be prats, but they were his prats.  And he wouldn’t have it any other way.


	3. Step 3

**Step 3:  Perfect the Art of Excuses**

_Even when hiding your magic, there are times it must be used.  And when you are off using magic, you miss other things.  Say, your job.  Or dinner.  Even if you are essentially a hermit, at some point, you will be missed.  So excuses are key._

_If you are often “skiving off your job” (aka: saving the prat’s ungrateful life), then you need a variety of excuses. Some of mine have not been exemplary, while others should be used as a reference to formulate your own.  For example, “Looking for woodworms” does not go over terribly well.  “Gathering herbs for Gaius” is a very good one (though there is the slight chance I may have overused it)._

_Excuses are the bread and butter of hiding magic.  Missing from work?  Oh, I was out gathering herbs.  Get separated from the rest of the group?  I got lost.  Battling to the death with a priestess of the old religion?  I was visiting my sick mum.  See?  Easy._  

* * *

 

“Merlin.  Merlin.   _Merlin!_ ” 

 

Arthur threw something at the wall, then waited for a few seconds.  Huh. The clot wasn’t just dawdling.  He was _late_.  Grumbling, the prince climbed out of bed and padded over to the table.  Nope, no breakfast.  After ringing the service bell, which a prince should never have to use, George brought his breakfast up and served him with precision befitting a King.  George was the perfect servant; demure, accommodating, always on time, precise, and _boring_.  Arthur was so _bored_. 

 

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion, with George attending to his every need. Arthur was _definitely_ not worried about Merlin.  He wasn’t worried that the clumsy oaf had fallen and broke his neck.  Or kidnapped.  Not at all.

 

Dinner came and went without any sign of Merlin.  Only when it was time to turn the bed down did the oaf decide to show up. Arthur, who was reviewing troop movements for Camelot’s borders, caught a glimpse of a blue neckerchief out of the corner of his eye. Of course he promptly threw a shoe at the blur of blue.

 

“Did the great Merlin finally deign to show up for work?”

 

No response.  Arthur looked expectantly at his manservant, who was rubbing his head and picking up the shoe.  “Well?  I trust you have a good excuse?”

 

The boy still said nothing, merely made a face and mimed something or another.  Or just flapped his arms.  One could never tell with Merlin, the boy was prone to flailing about.  “Use your words, _Merlin_.  I would absolutely _love_ to hear your excuse before I send you to the stocks”. 

 

Arthur was rather pleased with his own intellect.  Merlin hated the stocks.  Even the mere threat of them would lead to bellyaching about the unfairness of a servant’s life and Arthur in general. But still no response came.  Finally, the elven boy’s face appeared in front of his.  After nimbly snatching Arthur’s quill and paper, the dolt wrote something in the chicken scratch he called handwriting and shoved it in Arthur’s face. 

 

_I lost my voice you prat!_

 

Arthur grinned.  Oh, this was too good to be true.  Raising one eyebrow, he sent his best smirk at the manservant.  “Fantastic!  So I’ll get a couple days of peace and quiet? Without your constant yammering?”

 

Merlin glared at him and scratched something else. 

 

_One week, Gaius says.  And I will be sure to make my thoughts known in other ways, your royal highness._

 

Arthur thought for a moment.  “Why were you late, then?  Your voice doesn’t affect any part of your job description.  In fact, you might actually get your work done without the distraction of incessant blabbering”. 

 

Another glare.  Then, the daft servant’s face slowly contorted into that sorry expression he called a smirk.

 

_Was unconscious earlier today.  Gaius said he sent George to attend to you.  Did you miss me?_

 

As if.  Arthur’s life was much calmer without the obnoxious idiot bumbling through it. Arthur frowned at the servant.  Because of the previously mentioned idiocracy.  Definitely not because he was worried about an illness that could render its victim unconscious and without a voice.  “Of course not.  George is the perfect servant.  You, on the other hand, are nowhere close.  What I would like to know is how you managed to lose your voice and be rendered unconscious in such a short amount of time? I saw you last night and you were perfectly fine”.

 

Merlin hesitated. 

 

_I may have accidently tasted one of Gaius’s experiments instead of my dinner.  But it was on the table and looked like milk. Not my fault. _

All Arthur could do was laugh until Merlin stalked away, clearly fed up with the prince.  As the servant pouted down the hallway, Merlin smiled to himself.  Arthur never needed to know the voice loss was in fact a curse. Another evil sorcerer broke into the castle last night to assassinate Arthur, though this particular sorcerer was not bright enough to avoid Merlin’s magical alarms under the castle.  He was, however, bright enough to curse Merlin before running off. The stupid curse would last one very long week. Now, he just needed to tell Gaius what excuse he gave Arthur.  If he didn’t, the old man would probably tell him Merlin was in the tavern again.  The man had no imagination.


	4. Step 4

 

**Step 4: Never do magic in public.  Unless you are in danger.  Or the King is in danger.  Or if anyone is in danger.  You know what?  Just don't get caught using magic in public.**

 

_When I first came to Camelot, Gaius told me never to reveal my magic.  My closely guarded and literally deadly secret.  For the most part, even though Arthur is essentially King, I do that.  No one other than my mother, Lancelot, and Gaius know about my magic or the whole Emrys thing.  But never use it in public?  If you don’t have a grand destiny to keep and don’t really care about other people, this is a great strategy to use.  However, if you aren’t a cold and callus person, the guilt will kill you long before the pyre does._

_So I only use my magic in public if Arthur is in trouble (which is far too often, since the wanker manages to annoy everyone he comes across).  Let’s be honest, it would really muck up my grand and glorious destiny if Arthur got himself killed.  Plus, his sheer obliviousness eliminates most of the risk that comes with using my magic._

_Of course the exception to that rule is if Gaius or my mother is in trouble, I mean, they are family.  My mother raised me and Gaius taught me how to control my magic.  If I didn’t use it to help them, that would be rude, ungrateful.  So I only use it in public if Arthur, Gaius, or my mother are in trouble._

_So you should keep your list short like I did.  The more you use magic, the greater chance of being discovered.  Of course, in full disclosure, I have also used it in public for some other people.  You know, Gwen was in trouble, Lancelot was in trouble, Will was in trouble, Gili (that guy from the tourney) was in trouble, the knights are_ always _in trouble, Gwen’s dad, fighting all the evil villains that try to take over Camelot or rule Camelot or burn Camelot to the ground._

_Okay.  Let’s start this over.  Don’t ever get_ caught _using magic in public.  That works._

* * *

 

Six months after Morgana’s invasion, the Wyverns came.  Arthur was away for his annual “inspection of the forests of Camelot”, where the prat pranced around the kingdom with his knights and dashing manservant to check in with the royal game wardens across the kingdom.  In reality, it was an extended hunting trip, designed to give the crowned Prince a break from castle life.  Merlin thought he wouldn’t take it this year, since his father was still ill from the whole Morgana fiasco.  Arthur felt the same, but surprisingly his council insisted.  Merlin privately wondered if that was on purpose.  Arthur’s uncle creeped him out.

 

As it was, Arthur decided to shorten the trip from two weeks to one.  The knights of the roundtable (as they had begun calling themselves after their brief soiree in the caves) and Merlin himself would accompany him.  Of course then smallpox decided to make an appearance and Merlin was one of the first in the castle to contract it.  He was lucky that way.  A week before the hunting trip was set to depart, Merlin began to ache and had a high fever.  He thought it was just winter sickness, until he began to vomit consistently. Within 5 days he went from perfectly healthy to bedridden and not expected to make it through the night.  After that point, his memory was a bit fuzzy.  He thought he remembered the knights, Gwen, and Arthur taking turns at his bedside while Gaius fussed over him.  He also remembered dancing unicorns inviting him to the marriage of Agravaine and Morgana, so he didn’t quite trust his memory.

 

While Merlin was recovering, Arthur and the other knights left for their tour of the forests.  Gwaine stayed behind, officially to catch up to Arthur with Merlin once he was recovered.  Unofficially, Gaius told him Arthur had been insistent on leaving someone to watch over his “lazy dollophead manservant who purposefully contracted a disease to avoid hunting cute fluffy things”.  Which was grossly unfair and untrue, but Gaius had seemed amused so it was likely the clotpole was actually concerned about him.   Or Gwaine had refused to leave.  Either was possible.  Whatever the case, three days into Arthur’s hunting trip Merlin laid in bed, counting the stains on the ceiling for the hundredth time.  

 

“Merlin?”  The sorcerer could hear the door to his room crack open cautiously, a head full of tussled dark hair peering in impishly.

 

“I would tell you to leave, but I know you wouldn’t listen.  You do know you aren’t supposed to be around someone with smallpox. It is contagious”.  Which technically, he wasn’t anymore.  Gaius had to use magic to heal him (the fact that he had been forced to use magic was bit more disturbing than Merlin himself was willing to admit) so he technically no longer was ill. But the rest of the castle couldn’t know that.  Everyone knew those with smallpox were contagious for at least two weeks after they contracted it and he had two days left on the clock.

 

“Nah, mate.  If I don’t bless you with my presence, we all know you’ll die of boredom”. Which was a valid point.

 

“Not at all, Gwaine.  I have expanded my game to determining the cause of each ceiling stain” Merlin stated seriously. Pointing to a greenish-blue tinted circle, he explained, “I do believe that one was the cough medicine for Arthur, about a year after my arrival”.

 

Gwain grinned, “And, pray tell, how did it end up on the ceiling?”

 

Merlin smirked, “I may have added a bit too much sedative.  I only wanted a bit of a break to catch up on my workload.  Unfortunately, the sedative was reactive with the active ingredient and the whole thing exploded straight up to the ceiling.  Gaius was not pleased”.

 

Gwaine chuckled, slapping Merlin painfully on the back, “I bet you got the eyebrows of death for that one”.

 

“Yeah” Merlin admitted, then frowned, “Gwaine, really.  If you insist on being in the same room as an infected patient, could you please refrain from touching the aforementioned _contagious_ patient?”  

 

The horrible man (truly, horrible) just shrugged, “Eh. I figure if I haven’t contracted alcohol poisoning by now, I must have the best immune system in Albion.  A little thing like smallpox would never be able to survive”.  He leaned in, as if sharing a secret.  “You do know more than half my blood is mead, right?”

 

Merlin couldn’t help it.  He laughed.

 

“There it is.  You have been much too dour of late”.

 

“I was dying, Gwaine!  Excuse me for being out of sorts!”

 

Gwaine chuckled, but it was halfhearted at best.  Merlin instantly felt bad for bringing that back up.

 

“Sorry, mate…”

 

Gwaine waved his hand, “Don’t worry about it Merlin.  You just…you didn’t see yourself”.  The man swallowed heavily, “You were so pale and cold and Gaius was certain you wouldn’t make it”.

 

“You’re right, Gwaine, I didn’t think…”

 

Merlin’s apology was interrupted by something screeching outside his window.

 

“What the…”

 

Gwaine leapt to the window, head sticking out as he took in the scene below.  “Merlin, mate, stay here”.

 

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.  What is going on? What was that?”

 

Gwaine shoved open the door to Merlin’s room and rummaged around in Gauis’s room.  “Gwaine?”

 

The knight returned dragging their eating table, then shoved it on its side to block the window.  He reached around the corner of the door frame and snatched something long and shiny.

 

“Wyverns are attacking the bloody town. Trashed the Rising Sun.  That can’t be allowed, right mate?” Gwaine clasped him on the shoulder, then handed him the object.  A sword. No, Gwaine’s spare sword. The one Merlin used when his friend misguidedly tried to teach him self-defense.  “Hold onto this for me”.

 

“Gwaine”.

 

He sighed. “It looks bad out there.  Just, I don’t want you to be defenseless if they get in here.  Even your ridiculous luck won’t be able to help you if a wyvern decides you look tasty”.

 

That certainly wasn’t true, but if the sword made Gwaine feel better Merlin would take it.  “Thanks, Gwaine”.

 

“Welcome, mate. Stay here”. With a flounce and a wink Gwaine was gone to fight the beast. 

 

Merlin snorted and muttered to himself, “Stay here.  Not bloody likely.  Arthur would come back and Camelot would be razed to the ground”. 

 

The warlock quickly dressed himself and moved the table back from the window to peer into the courtyard below.  Gwaine was right, it was a mess out there.  Luckily, as the last surviving Dragonlord, Merlin just needed to get somewhere he could command the things to leave.

 

Merlin stuffed on his boots and threw his jacket on.  At the last minute, he strapped on the sword Gwaine had given him.  Could never be too careful.

 

Merlin’s first thought was to climb up to the top of the castle to the north tower, opposite the town. But after one flight of stairs it was clear that Merlin wouldn’t make it.  Even though he was healed by magic (his magic, which was an addition to the problem) he was still exhausted. So down the stairs it was.  

 

Merlin hated the bloody stairs.

 

By the time he reached the bottom, he had tripped at least 5 times, been ordered back to his room by three palace guards, and managed to spill something all over his jacket (and he hadn’t even been carrying anything).  He slammed his back into one of the columns as a wyvern shrieked past him, flying into the castle gates.  Merlin took that opportunity to run around the edge of the courtyard, avoiding the area where Camelot’s knights were desperately holding back the beasts. Merlin chose an alleyway at random.  Clear line of sight, out of the way, hidden from prying eyes. Good enough.  Merlin’s eyes blazed gold as he shouted in the language of his brethren, ordering the beasts to depart.  They hesitated, screaming in furry and defiance to the invisible orders.  Merlin chuckled wryly.  He wasn’t born yesterday.  These _fledglings_ were disobeying him.  No more.  He gathered all his remaining strength and roared again, no sign of weakness or fatigue present in his voice.  He was commanding, strong, and unyielding.  They would cease their attack.  They would return to the camp they were sent from and burn it to the ground.  They would leave the land of Camelot forever. 

 

The wyverns had no choice.  They left, screeching for the blood of the invisible commander, for the blood of the one who had sent them, for the blood of the innocent and of the guilty.  They would only receive the pleasure of burning Morgana’s hideout to the ground. Merlin had ensured it.

 

He fell to his knees, world spinning around him.  His voice was spent and his headache was back. But he had to move.  The knights would investigate the strange roaring sound and would sweep the town to ensure no foes remained.  Merlin could not be found here.  The warlock unsheathed Gwaine’s sword, plunging it into the ground in order to stand up.  He allowed himself a moment to sway on his feet, then started shuffling around the side of the courtyard.  He could do this.  He could do this. He could…

 

“Ahem”.

 

Merlin whipped around only to be greeted by a cloaked figure standing in the alley behind him.  Oh please no.  He couldn’t deal with any more evil sorcerers tonight…

 

But as the figure stepped into the light, the shadows disappeared and left an old lady in their place.  Merlin recognized her as one of the vendors in the market.  He’d bought flowers from her to give to Gwen (on behalf of Arthur of course).  His heart stopped in his chest, sweat dripping down his brow.  She had seen.  He was caught.  They were going to burn him alive and Arthur would return to his charred body hanging on the walls...

 

“Erm.  Hi?” Way to go Merlin.  One word. Great start. He should beg for mercy. It wouldn’t help but at least he would have done everything he could. “Um, could you, maybe, not, like, talk about the fight? Not that anything was unusual about it.  You didn’t see anything right?”  Great Merlin. If she wasn’t suspicious before she certainly was now. 

 

“Lad, I didn’t see anything. I also didn’t hear much.  I’m deaf in my right ear, you know”.  The woman tugged her cloak further around her, winking once before she hobbled off into the night. Merlin sagged against his sword, leaning against the wall to collect himself.

 

That was a close one.  Only due to Merlin’s quick thinking and great power as a warlock did he remain safe…

 

Bollocks.  Who was he kidding, he was only safe because he managed to find the one person in all of Camelot who wasn’t afraid of magic.  He really needed to be more careful.

 

He huffed, then dragged himself toward the castle.  He had hundreds of stairs to climb before Gwaine returned. 


	5. Step 5

**Step 5: When magic must be used in public, disguise yourself well.**

 

_As established in Step 4, you should take all precautions to avoid being caught whilst using magic.  However, the reality of using magic in a land that loathes it is that you will eventually get caught.  Or someone else will get accused of casting your magic even though they aren’t, because some old sod must be both blind and deaf. What? I’m certainly not speaking of King Uther. That would be highly treasonous and unbefitting of a servant of the crown…_

_Nowadays, with Uther a bit crazier than usual and Morgana plotting in the woods, the perfect disguise is crucial.  Because if you get caught using magic, your head will no longer be attached to your body.  No exceptions.  Even for saving the King’s own bloody head._

_Your disguise should be planned in advance. I was caught off guard the first time a disguise was necessary. One thing lead to another and suddenly I was a barmy old man stewing in the dungeon waiting for my execution.  After that fiasco, Gaius and I worked out the kinks in reversing the aging process and now I have the perfect magical disguise._

_I feel required to give my readers a brief disclaimer: I am not advising the brewing or use of any sort of aging potion.  Don’t do this at home people, unless you are extremely skilled. I cannot be held liable for any resulting nausea, vision distortion, time stuck as a frog, delusions of grandeur, personality changes, or accidental incinerations.  On the other hand, reference my book: “Merlin’s Guide to Spells that Could Kill You: The Extended Fun Edition” for the details of performing such a spell._

_Anyways, the prat is always useless when it comes to fighting magic, but in some cases even the pinhead must admit he needs magical help. Which he moans and fusses about but unlike his father he’ll actually consider all his options. Which may be the only redeeming quality he has. In cases such as this, pull out your disguise and get to work.  To explain your absence, see the previously discussed step 3._

* * *

 

“Well, this is just _great_ ”.  Merlin huffed and wriggled, trying to loosen the rope tied securely around his hands and feet. 

 

“Shut up, Merlin” Arthur muttered from the straw-covered floor beside him.  “It isn’t like I _planned_ to get captured this morning”.

 

“Of course not, sire.  You just walked right into their arms! ‘No _Merlin_ , I won’t stop and think for once. Why would I take tactical advice from a _servant_?  Clearly the solution to finding the missing villagers is to blunder through the woods.  They’re probably _hiding_ in the _bushes!_ ’” Merlin narrowly dodged the clump of straw Arthur threw at his face and smirked a bit at Gwaine, who unsuccessfully attempted to conceal his amused snort.  Leon just looked disapproving.  How _shocking_.  That man just didn’t appreciate the depth of Arthur’s stupidity.   

 

“In my defense, I found them” Arthur muttered under his breath, standing up and looking around outside their tiny cell.  Rows and rows of iron gates could be seen, a villager’s head popping through to look around every few minutes.  “What do you think these people want with us?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know” Merlin ground out sarcastically before Leon could answer, “I think they want to invite us to their Yuletide celebration.  Or maybe they are just really lonely and want some more friends. What do you _think_ they want us for? They’re slavers!”

 

“Well, they can take you” Arthur spit out, glaring at Merlin.  “Though they’d most likely return you after a few minutes”.

 

The knights chuckled at Arthur’s comment, which was just plain rude.  Though if he was being honest, one of Merlin’s great strengths was the ability to talk his way out of (and into if he was being _completely_ honest) tricky situations.  Percival clapped him on the back, sending Merlin reeling into Elyan.  The man ruffled his hair and stepped forward to stand next to Arthur.

 

“You bring up a good point, my liege.  They concealed themselves well.  Given their numbers, we should have seen signs of their forces in the forest”.  Elyan’s gloved hand quickly worked its way along the iron bars, searching for a non-existent weakness.   “I fear we may be dealing with foul forces, sire”. 

 

Merlin huffed.  Elyan wasn’t wrong.  But of all the times to realize they were dealing with magical forces, it wasn’t when Gaius was possessed by a goblin, when Uther was dating a troll, or when Arthur was dying from the Eye of the Phoenix.  Nope, it’s when some slavers hid a bit too well in the woods.  Go figure.

 

“Perhaps a sorcerer? Or merely a magical bauble?” Arthur asked, joining his knight at their prison’s bars.

 

“I don’t think any bauble could hide an army in the woods.  The sorcerer is the most likely option”.  Leon agreed easily.  Merlin rolled his eyes. It should be obvious by now, even to the knights.

 

“Oh _come on_.  It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

 

The others looked at Merlin in varying states of confusion.  Why must he always be the one to do the thinking around here?  “What sorcerer could _possibly_ want to capture Arthur?”

 

The man in question sighed, “Merlin, not everything bad that happens around here is due to Morgana”.

  
“Oh really?  Because so far, everything has been!  Yes, slaves fetch a pretty price on the market, but why would the slavers venture so far outside their territory?  Lot’s lands are much easier prey.  But instead, they venture deep into Camelot not once, not twice, but _three times_ and completely empty villages. Don’t be a clotpole, Arthur, Morgana was baiting us.  And she succeeded!  You’re right where she wanted you!”

 

Slow clapping grew louder and louder as footsteps meandered down the dungeon hall. Merlin groaned as the Lady Morgana stepped into view, looking as disheveled as ever. Really, a year in exile and suddenly Morgana forgot how to wash or comb her hair.

 

“I _am_ impressed, Merlin.  You’ve figured me out.  Oh, a bit too late, but that’s okay.  You’ve always been a bit slow”.  Morgana ruffled his hair from outside the cell before he could step away. He grimaced, glaring at Morgana when she sent a wicked grin his way.  She then turned her focus to Arthur. 

 

“Ah, brother dear.  So glad you could join us. I have great plans for you, but there’s no need to rush”.  A sickly sweet smile spread across her face, eyes glinting with wicked intent.  “I’m sure your precious knights wouldn’t want you to fall before they did.  At least they can die knowing that you still live…for now”.  

 

“ _Morgana”_ Arthur bit out.  “Why must you constantly prove Merlin right?”

 

Merlin groaned and shook his head.  Of course, he wouldn’t bring up all the times she’d invaded or all the people she’d killed.  Because clearly her greatest crime was proving Merlin right. 

 

“I think the real question is why must she always be so predictable” Merlin muttered not nearly quietly enough.  Arthur glared at him, and for once Merlin took his point.  Self-preservation.  Definitely not his strong suit.

 

“The most pressing concern for you, Morgana, is how you plan to keep us here”.  Arthur folded his arms and glared resolutely at his sister.  Merlin refocused his attention.  This would be interesting at the very least.  “The sorcerer Emyrs was kept well apprised of our situation and will step in if we need assistance”. 

 

Morgana laughed…really, even her laugh had grown evil and witchy.  The woman was a walking talking stereotype.  Merlin was a little offended. “You think you’ll fool me with borrowed names and promises of _magical_ retribution?  Everyone knows you’ve followed our father’s teachings, Arthur.  You wouldn’t ask for magical help if your life depended on it”.

 

Arthur nodded, “Not if _my_ life depended on it, certainly.  But the lives of my knights and villagers?  There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect Camelot, Morgana, even if that sometimes means consorting with _sorcerers_ ”.  

 

“Right”.  Morgana’s voice was laced with the same doubt running through Merlin’s head mixed with a bit of fearful trepidation at the name of Emyrs.  “Well, until your pet sorcerer decides to make an appearance, I think I’ll start your lessons.  The first lesson, my dear brother, is a review. Something our dear departed father taught you as a child”. Her mouth transformed into her signature smirk, “Always remember your station”. 

 

The gate opened, guards with pikes ready to attack anyone who so much as made a twitch in the wrong direction.  Merlin cried out in shock as Morgana’s hand snatched a piece of his hair and yanked him out of the cell.  He tripped and fell to the floor, legs hopelessly tangled in their bindings.  Morgana just laughed, kicking him in the ribs once before her guards hauled him to his feet.  Arthur stood against the gates, an uncharacteristic look of worry on his face that was soon overtaken by rage.  “Oh brother dear, what ever would he say if he could see you now?  _Friends_ with a _servant_?  A _foreign_ servant with no semblance of propriety or deference?  How disappointed he would be” Morgana tutted, her sharp nail tracing Arthur’s jaw.  

 

“At least I didn’t murder his people and lay siege to his castle” Merlin muttered, glaring at Morgana from his place between the two guards.  She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then laughed.  “Oh Merlin, I think we are going to have such _fun_ together!  Don’t worry brother dear, I’ll take care of the problem for you. Maybe teach the runt a bit of respect before executing him for his crimes”.

 

The witch gestured at her guards and they began to drag Merlin out to his fate.  Back in the cell Arthur paced angrily while Gwaine muttered, “Well, anyone know how to contact a sorcerer? Because I _know_ we don’t have one watching our backs and if we don’t do something fast, Merlin’s not going to be around to say ‘I told you so’ ”.

 

* * *

 

Merlin fought with the guards as they dragged him down the hall. They were out of the dungeons now and headed toward what was probably used as a tavern. Right.  This couldn’t be allowed to continue.  Luckily for him, Morgana’s back was to him.  He quickly whispered a sleeping spell, the guards and Morgana dropping at the same time.  The spell would keep the guardsmen out for enough time, but Morgana was strong.  Knowing there was little time to waste, Merlin searched the lining of his jacket for the aging potion he always kept on hand.  Downing it in one gulp, he turned back to the stirring Morgana.  Along with his physical change he projected a change of clothes on himself as well as a mirage of regular servant Merlin standing behind him.  Might as well make this convincing. 

 

Morgana gasped as she came to.  “Emyrs”.

 

“You’ve gone too far once again, Morgana” his voice crackled, along with just about every bone in his body. Why did he choose this disguise again?  “Camelot and the Prince are under my protection.  If you are wise, you will leave these lands and scratch out your pitiful existence elsewhere”.

 

Morgana made to rise, but Emyrs chanted determinedly until the young woman fell to slumber once more.  His joints protested as he stood straighter.  He missed his old man walking stick desperately.  He let the illusion of Merlin fade, then started the slow trek to the dungeons. 

 

* * *

 

He’d barely entered the dungeon hall when he was accosted by some of Morgana’s more eager men.  Luckily (for him) they were not smart enough to sneak up on him, instead choosing a frontal assault.  Fools.  They were out cold before they could even scream.

 

As he walked down the hall, Emyrs blasted the locks on the villager’s cell doors, allowing them to flood out behind him.  Finally he reached the end of the hall where Arthur’s cell was, only to find them all pressed against the cell door, desperately trying to see what was happening.  They stared at Emyrs like goldfish, mouths hanging open in shock.  Emrys merely laughed. 

 

“Are you going to stand there all day like baby birds waiting for their meal?  Do shut your mouth, Percival. You could catch a horse in there”.  All the knight’s mouths audibly snapped shut.  Arthur just glared.  Oh, this would be great fun.

 

“I believe you called, Your Highness”.  Emyrs completed an overdramatic bow, though he regretted it instantly.  Stupid old man disguises with crackling joints and bad hips. “Now move away from the door so I can let your ridiculous knights out”.

 

They did has he asked, mouths opening and shutting the whole while.  The whole group, townspeople and knights alike, followed him as he strode out of the dungeon.  Or hobbled.  Whatever. 

 

“While your arrival was timely, how on earth did you find us?” Gwaine asked, drawing a glare from Arthur and Leon.  He merely shrugged, answering their glares, “Well I certainly didn’t find a way to call him.  And no matter what you say, Arthur, I’ll never believe that you had him keep tabs on us like a barkeep in a tavern”. 

 

Emyrs cackled, “Certainly not. I have my ways, young knight”.  He then resigned himself to a flurry of questions he refused to answer all the way out of the slaver’s lair.  The only one he did respond to was Gwaine’s demands to go back in to look for Merlin.  “The brave, scrawny servant will be waiting in the woods”.  He replied, pointedly ignoring Arthur’s snort at the word “brave”.

 

Yes, it was good to have a disguise ready at all times.  Even if it did come with some unpleasant side effects.  Merlin turned to Arthur, grin carefully hidden behind the wizened face of Emyrs, “I don’t suppose you would give an old man a ride to the woods, would you?”


End file.
